When You See Millions Of The Mouthless Dead
by Unaltered
Summary: With one side of the war targeting those with disabilities, Atsushi is sent to a camp to avoid casualty at the orphanage, with one leg. There's others-a mute girl, a wheelchaired 'detective', and the boy he shares a tent with is terminally ill. They don't get off to a great start, but war brings people closer together or drives them apart. (AU, SSKK, Kunikidazai, Ranpoe and more)


Atsushi had never particularly liked boats.

He hadn't ever particularly liked the thought of being out at sea, either.

Oh, the ocean was fine, pretty and sparkly, good for beach days, and all that. But the thought of sitting idly on a boat as it rocked in the middle of a vast mystery on his way to a country he couldn't remember the name of put a bit of a damper on his mood whenever someone brought it up, and now that he was actually on the boat, he was in a state of dismay.

Atsushi hadn't asked for this. Nobody had. Nobody had asked for a war, and nobody had asked for the enemy side to be targeting people like himself. Useless people. People with illnesses, with physical disabilities, something wrong with their brain. Even people with things as minor as asthma or deafness were subject to murder-entire hospitals bombed, homes of veterans and physically impaired people attacked.

It was when the attacks had reached close to Atsushi's orphanage that the director told him to pack his bag and jump onto a boat and head far, far away from them, so they wouldn't be targeted. Go to the one country he can't remember the name of and reside in it's neutral borders until the war dies down. But don't come back.

He hadn't protested-he knew he shouldn't be there, putting everyone else in danger because he was physically incapable.

Atsushi didn't remember losing his leg. Rather, he remembered one day having it, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in a bed with only one and crying his eyes out. A doctor had told him that it was his brain repressing a traumatic memory, but Atsushi hadn't cared at the time. All he had cared about was the fact that he was supposed to have two legs, and now he had one. A pale, scarred thigh is what remained, an ugly stump at the end, where his knee should be.

Re-learning how to walk had been one of the hardest points of his life. Seven years old, yet he felt like a baby, learning it's first steps. His prosthesis was uncomfortable and expensive, as those at the orphanage continuously reminded him about, making him work extra chores and spend longer outside working in the fields, despite barely being able to stand due to the pain and discomfort.

But Atsushi had learned. He had learned how to walk, learned how to deal with the aching and itchiness of his right leg. Or what was left of it, at least.

Now, Atsushi felt like he was going to learn how to walk for the third time in his life. A new country, with people he'd never met before, at a place unbeknownst to him. He didn't know what awaited him here, or the people he would meet. Did this place have any electricity? Sufficient food? Would they ask him to work to earn his keep? He didn't mind, but what kind of work? Field work? Cooking? Cleaning?

Atsushi gave a light groan and buried his head further into his knees. He hadn't talked to any other passengers on the boat, who were all chattering quietly. Some were like him-missing limbs, some with prosthetics and some without. Others, he couldn't exactly tell what was wrong with them, and could only guess they had some sort of mental disability-autism, maybe. A few were even blind and possibly deaf.

There were no limits in which the enemy side-Aloris-would stop at. Even things like ADHD, OCD, simply wearing _glasses,_ people were targeted. Elder people with arthritis, young children with communication issues. Aloris longed for a paradise in which no flawed humans existed. Few exceptions were made-those who could live without their glasses, those who were practically geniuses, who humanity could benefit from. Aloris was crazy, but Aloris was also making progress, and action had to be taken.

Ignis had decided that the best way to handle this was sending them somewhere where it was untouched by the war, where they had told both sides that veterans and refugees with disabilities were welcome there-but the minute fighting emerged, they were all to be deported back.

Atsushi's stomach lurched at the thought. If they all were forced to go back, what would he do? The director had told him not to return-what if he ended up targeted by Alorisian troops as he lived on the streets?

Atsushi's leg ached with a phantom pain, and he rubbed where flesh met metal out of a nervous habit, the smooth material of his pants managing to hide the clunkiness of the prosthetic.

The boat gave a sudden lurch, and Atsushi lifted his head from his knees, watching the people around him crowd around the railings of the boat. The captain was screaming something, her voice slightly hoarse. But Atsushi understood-they had arrived.

It took a moment to stand steady on land after sitting on the boat for a few days, but once he was able to walk normally, Atsushi managed to keep up with everyone else. Few people were talking as a uniformed officer led them away from the ports, and as far as he could see, there were only rolling green hills and occasional houses dotting the landscape.

They walked for several minutes, a few officers separating people into groups by numbers. Atsushi had a stickered plastered to the front of his shirt that showcased the number 74. There'd been a grand total of two hundred people on the boat, and they were being split up into groups of fifty. Crossing his arms, he watched the sun slowly rise above the hills, into the gray sky, enjoying the feeling it gave him. Off the boat, and out of Ignis, he felt a strange sort of calm settle over him.

He was alive. He's still alive, and hopefully, he'll remain that way. What was better than that?

He felt bad for the rest of the people back in Ignis, and the innocent citizens in Aloris who had nothing to do with their government's crazy schemes. It had been expensive coming here-Atsushi had had to trade most of his personal possessions, leaving only the clothes on his back, a frayed bag and a single book. The director's first (and last) act of kindness to him had been paying for the rest of the fee required to travel here-at the insistence that as long as Atsushi was far, far away from them, they wouldn't be targeted.

He supposed it was the right thing to do. If the orphanage was attacked by Alorisian soldiers because of his being there, he would have felt guilty forever. He'd probably be dead, but he'd definitely feel guilty, even in the afterlife.

"Please, when the trucks arrive, sit down on the floor," A soldier was telling them all. "Welcome to Polus-you'll be remaining here until this war blows over. We have camps and settlements set up all across the country for you to stay and live. Each truck will be headed to a different one. Remain calm and if you need any help, please let us know."

Atsushi sat on the grass with a little difficulty, still feeling cramped from sitting on the boat for so long. The air was somewhere between cool and warm, a little humid, being so close to the ocean. A few people looked unsteady on their feet, and a woman had to ask one of the soldiers to help push her oxygen tank around with her.

Feeling the grass beneath his fingers, Atsushi was hit by a wave of exhaustion. He wanted to lay down and rest, but the trucks would be coming at any moment, and he didn't trust himself to not fall asleep and end up getting accidentally run over. What a way to go. Embarrassing, but strangely befitting.

The trucks arrived sooner than expected-one by one, they were loaded onto them, Atsushi clutching his small bag to his chest as he was squeezed in between a boy missing both his arms and a girl who kept coughing wetly into a handkerchief. The truck ride was a little bumpy, going over so many hills, but it was relatively calm. It took only an hour for them to arrive at their destination, which Atsushi was glad for. He didn't think he could handle much more sitting.

The camp seemed to spread for miles, and was full of small wooden cottages, tents varying in size, and an open-roof dining pavilion in the center. Atsushi wondered what they would do if it rained. Would they eat in their tents or the large building beside it?

More soldiers were lining up to greet them, but these looked a little more weary than the ones who were at the ports-soldiers with burns and scars, missing limbs. One of the generals was leaning heavily on two crutches, yet she still had a terrifying air around her. A young boy walked around and pressed bags into everyone's chest, greeting them with a sheepish smile and a "Welcome to Camp 56."

Atsushi peeked into the bag he was given, curious. Inside were a few items-a toothbrush, a pair of blue-colored pajamas, a small first-aid kit, and a notebook and pencil. Tucked inside the notebook were two strange cards, each with a number printed on it. They read _117._

One of the campers (for lack of a better word) was talking to them, waving his hands around animatedly.

"First, we're all going to provide you with lunch. We will then begin assigning tents and rooms, depending on the person. There's a multitude of things you can do here-you can work in the fields, help cook, help clean, be a doctor's aid-the more work you do, the more credits you earn." He held up one of the strange blue cards. "The more credits you have, the more things you can purchase-books, paper, treats like cake and candy. Education will be provided in the red tent nearest the pavilion, every day, from noon till three."

Another camper stepped forward-Atsushi tried not to stare at her. Her features looked like they had been melted and fused together. Probably a victim of fire.

"If you have any medical difficulties, please come to the medical building." She pointed to the largest building in the entire camp, the size of a convenience store. It's concrete walls were covered in chalky drawings, no doubt from the children residing in the camp.

With their explanations complete, they were led to the dining pavilion, where the rest of the camp was gathered. They sat in tables divided by sections, which they would be assigned to along with their bed. Atsushi was served bread and grapes, and hungrily ate it all in minutes. A few of the campers didn't look like they could stomach it.

Now that his hunger was satisfied and he'd been walking long enough for his entire body not to ache, Atsushi looked at the rest of the campers, taking in the appearance of each one.

Mostly everyone seemed physically okay, which meant a majority of the campers here probably suffered from a mental or chronic illness. He saw a few people like him-the boy with no arms, being fed by an elderly woman who was clearly blind; a girl who's prosthetics resembled sticks with clawed feet at the end; and a wheelchaired boy who was sucking on a lollipop and gazing at everyone else with boredom.

Balancing his elbows on his knees, Atsushi waited with everyone else. They were calling out people based on the number on their plastic blue cards, and when he heard 117, he stood up and approached the woman with melted features.

"Name?" She asked.

"Atsushi Nakajima."

"What're you here for?"

Atsushi lifted up the pants of his right leg to show her his metal prosthetic. Her eyes lingered on it a few moments too long-she must have been used to seeing them, but Atsushi's was...Different. He was self-conscious about it, and longed for a normal prosthetic.

After a few seconds, she nodded, and wrote something down on her clipboard.

"Atsushi," She said kindly, "You're going to be in sector 3, tent 39, which is that small cluster of tents over that hill right there-see where I'm pointing? No, no, that's sector 5-there you go, that's it."

Atsushi bowed his head in thanks and secured his bag beneath his arm a little better, and began his walk to the sector he was assigned.

The sectors were divided in several different ways-dividing sectors 2 and 3 was a half-mile row of carrots, cabbage, and radishes. Dividing sectors 3 and 4 was a long, man-made stream of water, which Atsushi could only tell was man-made because of how unnaturally straight it was. Judging from the pipes at each side, he assumed the stream served to be a source of water to be pumped, probably to water the plants.

The cloudy gray sky let in few rays of light, but Atsushi liked it, nonetheless. It seemed nice, here. Orderly. Peaceful. A change from the crowded and worried boat, the anxious orphanage that was bustling.

Sector 3 seemed to be made entirely of small tents that could fit two people and their belongings. About twenty of them, scattered about, with black numbers painted on them. Finding tent 39 all the way near the back was easy.

"Oh, look, it's someone new," A voice said as Atsushi ducked his head into the tent. There were two bedrolls inside, and someone else's belongings scattered on the left. It seemed as if he would be sharing with somebody else.

Ducking back out, Atsushi looked for the source of the voice, and found it instantly-a girl was peeking out from the tent across from him, tent 38. He could see the faint outline of someone else lying behind her.

"Hi!" She said cheerfully, lifting a hand to wave. "I'm Naomi."

"Atsushi," He responded, waving back. The boy behind Naomi stirred, and he watched as he turned onto his stomach and did a strange turtle-crawl out, ginger head bobbing.

"Naomi-what time is it-"

"It's almost eleven," Naomi answered, patting the top of his head, before gazing up at Atsushi. "This is my brother, Junichirou."

"Oh-someone new?" The boy's head lifted, and Atsushi was met with two different-colored eyes-one hazel and the other, a milky blue. Atsushi nodded, bending down a little and holding his hand out.

"I'm Atsushi," He said, and Junichirou lifted one of his hands up to grasp his. The ginger boy was staring at the tent behind him.

"Are you in tent 39?" Junichirou asked.

"Brother," Naomi began, but Atsushi nodded. Junichirou's good eye focused on him steadily.

"Good luck," Was all Junichirou said, before flopping back down onto his back. Within seconds, he was snoring.


End file.
